


the chicken noodle soup agenda

by dreamtowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Demon Summoning, Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Bad Cooking, Gen, Humor, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Here lies Prompto Argentum, the sweet age of twenty. Killed by his grandma’s demon-summoning chicken noodle soup.Gods, what an epithet on his gravestone that would be.Prompto just wanted to make his grandmothers’ infamous chicken noodle soup—but, of course, he somehow managed to summon the prince of demons into his kitchen.





	the chicken noodle soup agenda

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its developers: Square Enix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors.

Prompto trailed his finger down the recipe ingredients one last time, humming along with the kitchen radio, before he straightened his apron and clapped his hands. “Time to get to work,” he said, to no one in particular, and reached for the packet of pasta noodles. The easiest part was setting the water to a boil and tossing the pasta in, with a little olive oil and salt.

He poured in the chicken broth a moment later, set the pot to a simmer, and then eyed the uncut potatoes, chicken, and vegetables with a wary sort of trepidation.

Now that he thought about it, maybe he should’ve prepared those _before _he turned on the stove. Oh well—no turning back, as he liked to say, and really, preparing those shouldn’t take too long. “I got this,” he told himself. “Even I can’t screw up a simple recipe.”

Five minutes in, Prompto should really learn to just stay quiet about these things.

Smoke poured into his kitchen, but, miraculously, it hadn’t set off the fire alarm. It didn’t look like it came from the stove, but Prompto rushed over to turn it off, nonetheless. Ignis would be so disappointed if he managed to burn down his apartment.

Near the island counter, the smoke morphed and shifted into what looked like a taller man—except Prompto’s pretty sure that humans don’t have what looks like ram horns perched in their hair nor do they have red eyes _or _a wing span of black feathers that droop from their shoulders.

The person—cosplayer? Extraterrestrial life form? Shadow demon? — blinked around Prompto’s kitchen in confusion, and, lips parted slightly (not that Prompto’s _looking _at their lips, of course), said, “What the actual _fuck?”_

Prompto dropped his spoon. It clattered on the floor and the noise caught the demons’ attention; Prompto found himself pinned beneath crimson red eyes a few seconds later. He didn’t think he even breathed.

“How?” the demon breathed out, incredulity battling with amusement over his—their? —expression. “How were you able to summon me?”

Prompto looked down at the innocuous, chocobo-patterned cookbook, and said, just a touch hysterical, “I don’t know, dude, you were supposed to be chicken noodle soup.”

The demon snorted before he leaned against the counter. “Well, this definitely isn’t how I expected to spend my day. Well—beats sitting in those stuffy council meetings, I suppose.”

Prompto’s pretty sure the floor will pull beneath his feet. _Demons have council meetings? _After a moment or so, he coughed. “Sorry for, uh, summoning you—I really, really don’t know how I did it, uh . . . sir . . .?”

“Name’s Noctis,” said the demon, and then he tilted his head. Prompto almost died because he’s positive demons are supposed to look so _cute_, what the fuck? “And you? I think it’s only fair I get to know the name of the human who called me to their realm so abruptly, after all.”

“P-Prompto.”

Noctis laughed a little, showing off the pointed teeth in his mouth. Prompto was five breaths away from a visit to the ER. “_Prompto_ – that’s Latin, isn’t it? Been a while since I heard that language.”

“Uh.” Prompto didn’t know what to say—what _could _he say? “So . . . um . . . how do I . . . take you back?”

“Back?” Noctis echoed, and then pouted. Someone with ram horns and wings shouldn’t look so pretty, that’s, like, a _law_. “Aww . . . wanna get rid of me so soon, do you? That’s not how summoning works, sweetheart.”

Prompto’s heart truly did stop. _Here lies Prompto Argentum, the sweet age of twenty. Killed by his grandma’s demon-summoning chicken noodle soup. _

Gods, what an epithet on his gravestone that would be.

Prompto then squeaks out, “What?”

“You summoned me here,” Noctis drawled out, picking up a piece of Prompto’s carrots before putting it down with a look of distaste. It made Prompto think, distantly, _huh, demons hate vegetables_. “Typically, people summon demons to fulfill one wish—but most humans tend to summon . . . lower tier demons, but, regardless . . . I can’t leave until that’s done with.”

Prompto blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it, before his gaze trailed down to the recipe that started this entire mess in the first place. After a few more minutes of silence floated between them, Noctis quirked an eyebrow and said, “Figured out your wish? I’d rather not be trapped in your . . . whatever this place is . . . for long. People will, ah, miss me back home.”

_Right. Right. _Prompto shook himself out of his stupor and did his best to give Noctis a smile. “I, uh . . . you wouldn’t mind helping me make this recipe, would you?”

Noctis stared at him, expression deadpan and unfathomable, and the longer he stayed quiet, the darker the flush became on Prompto’s skin. Should he have asked for something else? But, really, he just wanted some chicken soup because it was _cold, _okay, and he had _needs_.

Then, Noctis chuckled, a low sound that made Prompto shiver, and said, “Sure, _Prompto_. But you’ll have to walk me through it, after all—s’been a while since I . . . had to make a human dish.”

“No problem,” Prompto said, though it was more of a squeak, and it caused Noctis to laugh again; a lighter, softer sound that made Prompto almost hypnotized. He reached for the cookbook and flipped to the start of the recipe. “Uh . . . I already, um, cut up the, um, vegetables and, uh, chicken . . ..”

“Clearly,” said Noctis, drier than the Leiden desert during a drought. He picked up another carrot and wrinkled his nose. “What is this?”

“Caem . . . carrots . . ..”

Noctis sniffed. “How – distasteful. They look unpleasant to eat. Bright and colorful foods tend to be poisonous—are you eating _poison?”_

Prompto almost pinched himself. Was Noctis, a demon he summoned with his failing cooking skills that once made Ignis cry, concerned about Prompto eating something poisonous? “Uh, no, no carrots aren’t, um, poisonous . . .,” he said once he grasped his bearings. _Well . . . to those who aren’t allergic to them. _

Noctis hummed and then, to Prompto’s mounting horror, stepped away from whatever had kept him chained to the island counter. “Well?” he said after a moment. “Would you like to make your . . . thing or not, Prompto?”

Prompto almost dropped the book. “Sure—right!”

The team they made was an oddly comfortable one. They worked well together, even though Noctis disliked handling all the vegetables Prompto added to his soup, but either it was the work of their arrangement or Prompto’s fear of getting the recipe wrong _again_, the soup came out a perfect replica of his grandma’s. The mere scent threatened to bring Prompto down a trip to the winter days spent out in Cleigne.

Prompto poured himself a bowl, and then turned. “Hey, Noctis, would you—?”

But there was a rush of sudden air, a billowing wind, almost, and he closed his eyes out of instinct. When he blinked, a few seconds after the wind dissipated, Noctis had disappeared. The mess in his kitchen was gone, too.

Prompto set down the soup ladle and exhaled. “What a day, huh?”

_Wait until Iggy hears about this_.

The only thing left, however, that showed Prompto he hadn’t hallucinated the entire evening was the small figurine of a fox-like creature perched on the island counter. Right where Noctis had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Found this prompt on Pinterest. Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it!


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